


silicate

by Enchantable



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Bonding, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, influenced by alien objects
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 05:47:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19144777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enchantable/pseuds/Enchantable
Summary: “I need you to come down to the station,” Max says in his best cop voice, “Alex is in your spot.”That wakes him up.“What?” He says, sitting up and rubbing his face, “what do you mean Alex is there?”





	silicate

**Author's Note:**

> Original Prompt: Malex prompt where Michael learns Alex stormed off the bar drunk and that he was driving while under influence so panicked Michael calls him and pleads with him to pullover and wait for him to pick him up, he tries to keep him alert and focused on the road while he’s being with him on the line. When he gets there Michael gives him a piece of his mind when he sobers up “I’m not gonna allow you to hurt yourself/you scared the shit out of me.”

“Michael.”

Michael groans into the phone. He’s happy Max is alive and back but the shine is wearing off. He thinks that now that he’s not getting arrested so much, maybe Max is lonely. He calls way more. But sometimes he calls at weird hours. Why he isn’t with his girlfriend, Michael doesn’t know but he’s probably on shift.

“What?” He asks.

“I need you to come down to the station,” he says in his best cop voice, “Alex is in your spot.”

That wakes him up.

“What?” He says, sitting up and rubbing his face, “what do you mean Alex is there?”

A moment later his phone chimes and he opens the message. Alex is on the bench in the holding cell, sound asleep. Alex only sleeps like that under two circumstances and since he’s alone, that means he’s drunk. Again. Michael doesn’t hold back the swears as lifts the phone back up to his ear.

“I’ll be there in 15.”

He leaves the warm bed and throws on his clothes, splashing cold water on his face before he drives to the station. It’s very, very strange not to be there in the back of a squad car and the only people who seem to find it stranger are the officers who work there. Gladys at reception even nods in hello instead of shaking her head in disappointment. Really that should be his first clue but he’s so glad this isn’t coming with a shiny pair of matching bracelets—and ok kind of worried about Alex—that he doesn’t notice.

  
“Michael,” Max greets him.

“Let’s get him out of there,” he says.

Max nods and gets the keys as Michael goes over to the cell. Alex is snoring. He’s really wasted and Michael is grateful that he’s not hurt but also horrified that Alex is drunk in the cell. The thought in the back of his head is, of course, that Alex is there because of him. That his need for something nice and simple and easy means that it’s Alex’s turn to be a self destructive dick. He’s just lucky to be doing it in the same place where Michael did so Max can save them both. Max opens the cell door and motions him in.

Michael’s been arrested enough, he really should know better.

“Max what the fuck?” He says as the door closes behind him.

“I’m sorry Michael, this is for your own good,” Max says.

“You can’t have tow people in here!” He says, “I know how this shit jail works!” Max shrugs, “this is a fire hazard!”

“You want to call the fire department?” Max offers.

Michael smirks and goes for his phone. Only to find Max has apparently returned to his bullshit 8th grade fascination with magicians because the asshole lifted his phone. He glances at the other officers who are looking away in a way that means Max wants him in the cell with Alex and they are going to let him be in there.

“Whose side are you on?” Michael demands.

“Your side,” Max says, “always.”

Michael could bring up all the fucked up reasons Max should not being doing this. The fact that Max is expressly not allowed to do things without his consent since HandGate. Max tenses and he knows that’s what he’s waiting for. But he glances at Alex who is scruffy and snoring and was driven drunk again. And he knows that telling Max to let him the fuck out isn’t going to keep Alex safe. Alex wants nothing to do with him. Michael knows that but what else is new.

“Can I have my phone back?” He asks.

“Sorry,” Max says, “rules are rules.”

“I seem to remember getting a phone call,” Michael says.

“I figured you were waving that again.”

Michael glares. He never makes his phone call because the phone call would always be to one person. Who happens to be standing in front of him in his khaki uniform. But things are different now so he smirks.

“Changed my mind,” he says, “I’ll do it from here, just hit Siri,” he says, “and put speaker on. It’s that big button—there you go,” he says.

“How can I help?” Siri helpfully asks.

“Siri call Liz,” he says.

Max goes three shades of pale.

“Calling Liz,” Siri confirms as Max fumbles off speakerphone as the call connects.

“Hey babe,” he says, “I can explain.”

Michael cackles and goes over to the bench, shifting Alex’s legs onto his lap and leans his head back to wait.

For as long as he’s known him, Alex has woken up first by cracking his toes. It’s just naturally how he does it. Michael feels his calves tense. More recently, Alex always wakes up confused. In his dreams he has two legs. Sometimes he dreams of getting one blown off, but the dreams start with him having two. There’s a heartbreaking second before he’s fully awake that he tries to crack his toes and remembers why he can’t. Michaels keeps his arm around his legs as Alex’s features draw together and then his eyes open. Michael doesn’t let him wallow in confusion or worse think he’s been captured, he clasps his hand on Alex’s knee and Alex’s eyes focus in on him.

  
The pulling away is instant.

It fucking hurts too.

Alex eases himself up and slides away. Michael turns as he lowers his leg to the ground with a heavy thud and his other leg follows it far more gently. He can see the toll this is starting to take on Alex. His mind flashes with statistics of things Alex is, things he prides himself on being—or is learning to for some of them. He’s not ready for the fear that churns in his stomach.

“How did you wind up in here?” Alex asks, pressing the heels of his hands into his bloodshot eyes.

“Max called me,” he says. The displeasure on Alex’s face at this news makes the ache sharper, “what are you doing man?” He asks.

“Don’t worry about me,” Alex says.

“What do you mean don’t worry about you? Unless we’re fucking I can’t care about you?” He asks, trying to keep his tone measured. Alex is hungover and clearly doesn’t want to have this conversation but he can join the fucking club as far as Michael’s concerned, “you scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry,” Alex mutters and Michael glares with how his voice sounds.

“What the hell are you doing?” He demands, “are you trying to hurt yourself?” Alex doesn’t respond which is all the response Michael needs, “you’re not allowed to do that.”

“You don’t have a say in what I do,” Alex says, finally looking at him.

“Really?” Michael questions, “so everything about us being family was bullshit?” Alex glances away, “actually, you know what? I didn’t believe you before but if you’re planning on leaving, then hell maybe you are family after all.”

It’s a low blow if there ever was one and if Alex didn’t look like he was ten seconds from puking, he’s sure he’d have some kind of response. But Alex does look ten seconds from puking and he isn’t rising to the bait. In some ways this is a nightmare, in so many ways if he thinks about it. But Alex deviating from the script they’ve run the past decade has always been terrifying, if he’s being honest with himself. The worst is when Alex stands up. His fingers lock to the grate and he tries to move away. Michael knows how unwelcome his touch will be at the moment, so he does the next best thing and uses his powers when Alex’s good leg buckles. Alex turns so fast and moves back so quick, it reminds Michael that Alex is a highly trained soldier.

“Don’t,” Alex says, “I don’t need your help,” he snaps. Michael keeps his power there anyway until Alex makes it to the corner and slides down, sitting heavily on the floor. He pulls his good leg up and rests his forehead against his knee, “fuck,” he swears, like the fight’s gone out of him.

Michael stares and tries not to focus on the parts of Alex that make him more susceptible to being an addict, to hurting himself. He knows Alex hates it when he does that. Alex wants to be a regular guy, whatever the fuck that means. Michael knows he’d have to be a guy first before he even started thinking about being regular. But there is something heartbreakingly familiar about what Alex is doing. Something that does make this regular, in a very painful and real way. Max slips into the room and shakes his head to let him know he can’t keep them in there for much longer. But Michael is good at thinking on his feet.

“Max?” He says, “when was my first arrest?”

“Day of Alex’s deployment,” Max says, “drunk and disorderly conduct.”

“What about the fifth one?” Max raises his eyebrows, “it was in March?”

“I pulled you over for driving drunk,” Max says.

“Right after your second tour,” Michael tells Alex.

“If you’re trying to guilt me into feeling worse, it’s working,” Alex mumbles.

“I’m not,” Michael tells him honestly, “I’m saying you’re not the first person to be drunk in this cell,” he says, “I’m not worth this, Alex. You know better than to fuck yourself up over me.”

“I’m not doing this over you, Michael,” Alex snaps.

Michael wishes he believed it. He knows he’s not worth it. Alex knows he’s not worth it. But hearing Alex snap his first name like that makes Michael wish it was true.

“Then why are you?” He asks.

“I don’t know,” Alex says, dropping his leg and resting his head back against the grate, “drinking makes it feel better.”

“Come on man,” Michael says, “you’re better than this. You know better than this. You gotta be taking pills for your leg, do any of them mix with liquor?” Alex shakes his head and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, “Alex—“

“I have a piece of your ship!”

Everything stills inside of Michael and Alex keeps his hands pressed to his eyes. When he pulls them away, Michael prays he’s imagining the red sheen that seems far worse than the irritation he was having earlier. Michael looks up at Max who is already starting towards them. Alex shoves himself up, pulling by the grate and Michael has to fight every urge to help. It looses when he pauses and Michael goes over, gripping Alex’s forearm. It’s worse up close.

“MiMi DeLuca said that there was something about it that didn’t belong. I was going to tell you but—“ he trails off, his fingers gripping Michael’s forearm, “the drinking helps.”

Max comes over and looks at Alex.

“Can you heal him?” Michael asks.

  
“I’m not sure there’s anything to heal,” Max admits.

“Liver damage?” Michael asks.

“I think he just has to get away from the piece,” Max says, “Alex where is it?”

“In the bedroom,” he says, “safe in the closet. It’s open.”

“I’ll go get it,” Michael says, transferring Alex’s grip to Max, “you stay with him. He needs anything like healing—“ Max nods.

“I got it,” he assures him.

Max and Alex are both warriors in a way that Michael has never been. Mostly in that they have some kind of code they try to follow. They fight and they live, but they respect the cost of it. Michael has always, always fought to survive. There’s no cost calculated because if it’s him or some meth head that thinks they can buy foster kids for government checks, he’s going to survive. He leaves Alex in the care of Max because Michael doesn’t have the same code. He protects, that’s all. So he drives to Alex’s cabin, focusing on getting there and getting the piece of his ship.

The piece of him that’s driving Alex insane.

It’s easy to find. Alex has it near his weapons and Michael doesn’t want to think about why that safe is open. The piece feels warm in his hands, it flickers under his fingers. It wants to be with the others. Michael knows that. It’s probably the biggest whole piece that he’s found. As much as he wants to blame Alex for this, Michael knows he can’t. Not completely. Alex hates being vulnerable and he hates being embarrassed and Michael has managed to reject one and push the other. It’s not fair that he doesn’t get to do this too. Get to do the easy thing. He wants the easy thing, for once in his fucking life. But all he can see is the fact that Alex’s bed isn’t made and his crutch is tipped over where he can trip so easily.

“Damn it!”

He’s allowed to be pissed off.

He won’t let Alex pay for that.

It’s foster kid 101 that he constantly feels the need to prove himself. To be worthy of anything resembling basic kindness or family. He wishes the fancy shrink the Evans had sent their twins to for a few years wasn’t so on the money. Especially since his parents didn’t abandon him. They were here. They were imprisoned and he killed them. It’s not a knot he’s prepared to undo. What he’s prepared to do is go over to Alex’s pharmacy cabinet and dump all the pill bottles into the tote he finds. Because Alex may be a coward and Alex may be afraid but Alex is annoyingly good. And Alex obviously uses reusable bags. He grabs Alex a change of clothes. Michael focuses on the anger as he takes the pills and the piece of his ship and gets back in his car. He stops at his trailer only long enough to drop the piece on his bed and throw his blanket over it before he goes back to the police station. Just a little separation from the piece makes Alex look better, but he’s still a hungover wreck.

“I got your pills,” he says. Alex’s features darken, “we’re going to the hospital,” he ignores any protests. In his head he calls this ‘pulling a Max’ and gets Alex to the car, pretending he doesn’t understand his brother’s more dickish moments, “you’re not losing your liver because of me.”

“I’m—“

“You’re not fine, Alex!” He says, “the only good thing is you’re not stupid enough to get this wrecked over a broken heart,” he drives to the hospital, “you’re not me.”

Alex stares at him and Michael knows exactly what he wants to say. But Michael’s not done by a long shot.

“We can’t both be stupid and afraid,” he says, “and don’t say there’s no ‘we’,” he adds, “you don’t get to cut me off after one fuck up—“ he looks at Alex’s bloodshot eyes, “a few fuck ups,” he amends.

“The shard might complete it,” Alex says, “the ship—did it?”

“I don’t care about the shard!” Michael says. Alex winces, “shit, sorry,” Michael says hastily, “I don’t care about the shard,” he repeats, “I threw it on my bed and then I came to get you.”

“Are you leaving?”

Michael stares at him, floored that Alex expects him to say yes. Which, okay, he may have been adamant about for a long ass time. Except he’d been adamant about leaving to find his family. Which, if he thinks about it—Michael presses his forehead to the steering wheel. The weight of the irony is something only Max Evans could appreciate.

“That ship was supposed to take me to my family,” he says. Alex looks down, “it did it’s job,” he says, “let’s go make sure it didn’t take your liver in the process.”


End file.
